The Failed Mage

His eyes darted to the underbrush where the rustling was coming.

Flashes of steel.

Multiple figures—not samurai—bearing arms, began to approach from fifty paces ahead.

“Look out!” Lawrence called as he summoned reserves of strength still unspent. With only one spear between him and Tomiichi, they weren’t going to fend off these attackers.

Without waiting to give them an opportunity to assault them, the failed mage thrust out his palms.

One of his enemies called, “Mage!”

They fanned out immediately and a figure wearing ornate plate with wings on either side of his helm rushed forward from behind his comrades.

If you want to be the first to die, Lawrence thought, then here you go!

The mage materialized multiple balls of fire, hurled them at his enemy with a pumping of his arms. The blazing magic streaked toward the enemy warriors.

But then something unexpected happened. With an underhanded strike the fop at the front deflected the first fireball, then the other three with successive sweeps of his blade, his movements a mere blur of action as the fireballs screamed and exploded a safe distance from their heads.

Lawrence gritted his teeth. He had never seen such a thing before. He turned toward the others. “Tomiichi! I need you! Everyone else, run!”

He didn’t wait to be obeyed. Lawrence charged the enemy. If he couldn’t attack them with a frontal assault, he would hit them from a different side until his attacks found their marks.

Running through the grass and trees—there looked to be five or six of them—Lawrence darted to the right and ran a moderate half-circle so as not to be attacked as he outflanked the group of…

Are they knights?

No time to think. He was behind them now, his runes glowing like embers as he summoned the last of his reserved strength for one more flurry of fireballs.

Lawrence would turn them into burnt meat and charred leather this time. Instead he came up short, flinched involuntarily as three of the knights were facing him, their swords positioned defensively.

They were going to deflect his magic just like their leader had, and he didn’t have enough magical reserves to summon more fire afterward.

Instead of wasting his last chance, he suppressed the magic, which was near to bursting, his runes screaming as if being seared into his flesh anew.

Growling, he back stepped quickly as the three defenders were already moving forward for the assault, their plate and mail clinking with every step, a wall of muscle and steel and certain death.

“Lawrence!” Tomiichi called.

He saw the pike go up into the air. The guard commander must have known he had no chance since he was tossing his weapon to Lawrence.

But before it hit the ground, that foppish knight, faster than any plated warrior he had ever seen, intercepted the weapon, sending it away from its intended trajectory with a metallic screech as it caromed off the warrior’s double-edged sword.

The man up front, surprisingly thin and lithe for all that plate—

That’s a woman?!

The failed mage froze in his tracks. He wasn’t expecting what he was now seeing. Hukama surely recruited from far and wide.

Then she spoke.

“Are you going to gawk or fight, mercenary?”

He could run, but that would surely leave the others—leave Sakura—to be captured. Lawrence wasn’t going to allow that to happen.

“Make up your mind!”

Damnation, he thought. She’s impatient like me.

Lawrence couldn’t help himself from letting out his next words. “I thought you were some kind of foppish knight, but I see now that you’re a wench off playing at swords and shields.”

He didn’t have to look very hard to judge that the plate she wore was the best the failed mage had ever seen. It covered every inch of her body down to her hips, leaving only her mouth, throat and upper thighs exposed to possible injury. Her boots, though leather, were equally impressive, coming up to her above the knees, small plates of armor covering her shins.

She actually giggled at his insult, a sound he wasn’t expecting to come out of the mouth of this warrior woman.

“Oh, you’re right,” she said, a note of seduction in her tone, “Daddy’s been quite upset with me.” She laughed, evidentially her own wit quite amused her.

So… he thought, deranged as well.

“Why don’t you come over here and show me how to use that blade!”

Her tone abruptly changed. “Do you want me to kill you, you magic-wielding filth?”

“Indeed, I do not. I would much rather prefer to give you a nice hot spanking, you heavy wench!”

Surprised with himself, Lawrence nearly laughed, but he didn’t want to come across as deranged, so forced himself to only reveal a smile.

“You have quite the mouth, mage.”

He needed to stall them. “I could say the same of you, miss…?”

She was close enough that Lawrence could see her mouth twist in distaste. “Do you usually ask the names of those about to run you through?”

“Normally, no,” he said, “but you look peculiar and I don’t recognize that crest on your breastplate. Being a mercenary myself, I’m curious what your company is called.”

Her evident annoyance clearly went to disgust as she began to sneer more and more with every word that came out of his mouth.

“Odd,” he continued, “that you bristle more at not being recognized than you do at being called a cow. Quite vane, are we?”

“Enough!” she barked. “You die here, magic wielder!”

Something isn’t right here, he thought as he began to back step.

He was out of time, but he couldn’t run, and fighting was all but useless against these… knights? She had angered quickly at being assumed a mercenary. So, haughty and vain. Very knightly.

Lawrence decided to throw something out there. “Are you a Flamma Purigare?”

She stopped short, her eyes widening for a moment before quickly narrowing to slits. Though her upper face was covered by her helmet, there was enough space for her to see by, allowing Lawrence to also see her expressions. Again she sneered, but this time in evident bemusement, as a predatory look crossed what features he could make out. “No one calls us that anymore, you dolt.”

She lunged.

“NOW DIE!”